


What Makes Us Human

by dewthreads, TheWolfeAndTheRose



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alice is Kara's daughter, Alternate Universe - Human, Amanda raised Connor and Collin (RK900), But Connara takes forever to happen, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor and Kara have been burying their feelings for each other, CyberLife is still Not Good though, Everyone is human and in 2018, Except Todd, F/M, Gen, Human Alice Williams (Detroit: Become Human), Markus and North are dating, North is a badass but still a sweetheart, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Todd can go to hell, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name, a lot of em, childhood flashbacks, everyone deserves happiness, just FYI, obviously, the slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewthreads/pseuds/dewthreads, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolfeAndTheRose/pseuds/TheWolfeAndTheRose
Summary: Connor wasn't the most advanced prototype ever created by a corporate giant. He was Connor Stern, a young but valued detective for the Detroit Police Department, working to uncover the secrets of a corrupt government—and he had some secrets of his own.Kara wasn't an android tasked with taking care of a child who had an abusive father. She was Kara Williams, married to an abusive man with no foreseeable way out, and a nine-year-old to think of.Markus wasn't the leader of the android revolution. He was Markus Manfred, the son of a famous painter, and fought back after an unjust system robbed him of his freedom.They were all completely, utterly human, trying to survive in a fucked-up world. All with their own dark stories, inner demons, and greatest weaknesses. Not punished for simply existing, but still had the cruelties of life thrown at them. The question, however, remained the same: No matter what they faced, would they survive?(The story of Detroit: Become Human, reimagined to be wholly human.)





	What Makes Us Human

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cookiemonster2000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookiemonster2000/gifts), [tiny_taylore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_taylore/gifts), [littlefallofraina18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefallofraina18/gifts), [AmiiRay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmiiRay/gifts), [nic_h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nic_h/gifts).



> So, this is my first collaboration effort! Shoutout to my writing buddy ensorcello, love ya. Same goes for all you lovelies on the Connara discord, and I dedicate this to all of you (gifting to those of you whose ao3 usernames I know). To put it simply, this a rewrite of DBH, with the storylines remade to allow for completely human characters in a modern setting! (And, of course, to make way for my ships.) I will add other ship tags, but not at the moment, because I want to surprise y'all. Also, side note: I am not sure where North's middle name came from. It just felt right. Enjoy the chapters The Hostage, The Opening, and Shades of Color! Love you guys!

**August 15, 2018**

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

As the elevator steadily climbed the floors of the high-rise apartment building, beeping once for every level it passed, another sound repeated. The elevator's sole passenger stood dead center, flicking a quarter back and forth between his fingers. The silver coin glinted under the harsh fluorescent light, as its owner spun and flipped it effortlessly—a skill that had taken years of practice.

Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Up and down.

Then the elevator came to a stop with a  _ping_  on the 70th floor, and the owner of the coin caught it between two fingers, wasting no time in slipping it back into his pocket. As the doors slid open, he adjusted his tie—an old habit that he'd never bothered to break. The coin was a calming tactic, and fixing his necktie grounded him.

The passenger in the elevator was a detective, and in many ways certainly looked like what most picture when hearing the word  _detective_ : tall, thin, and limber, with a handsome face, wide amber eyes, and dark hair that was neatly swept back over his head, though a stubborn lock of hair still insisted on falling over his forehead. He was dressed sharply in a two-colored suit: black pants, black shoes, black jacket, and a white button-down shirt. His tie was also solid black and kept secure with a silver pin. His choice of dress certainly helped add to the professional air he aspired to project.

Connor Stern was a man on a mission, and he was going to look and act like it.

He was greeted with an absolutely chaotic scene, or rather a scene of past chaos. Glass from a nearby aquarium was scattered across the floor, books had fallen from shelves into the corridor, and a SWAT agent was standing in front. He'd obviously been waiting for Connor.

As Connor exited the elevator, the SWAT agent turned and jogged down the hall and out of sight, speaking into his radio as he did so.

"Negotiator on site. Repeat: Negotiator on site."

_Negotiator_. Though Connor had been a detective for nearly five years, this was his first hostage negotiation (his higher-ups had selected him for the job because, according to them, he was on a fast track to join the FBI), and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous about it.

Deep breath in. Hold for three seconds. Exhale.

He stepped into the hallway, pausing to examine a photograph on a side table. A perfect family of three, all smiling at the camera: a man, his wife, and their young daughter. Connor, of course, knew who they were: John Phillips, his wife Caroline Phillips, and their twelve-year-old daughter Emma. John was an accountant at an average-size firm, his wife worked as a secretary in a law office, and their daughter attended a private middle school. (Connor had done his research).

He kept moving down the corridor, only pausing to bend down and return an errant fish to the partially shattered aquarium: a dwarf gourami, characterized by its orange body and iridescent blue markings. As he watched the little creature swim away, another voice cut in.

"No, stop! I can't leave her!" The voice belonged to Caroline Phillips, who was undoubtedly being escorted away by SWAT. Her daughter was the hostage in question.

Connor turned to the right and came face-to-face with the desperate mother. Her already-pale face had gone white, her eyes wild. Tears streaked her cheeks. "Oh, please, please, you gotta save my little girl."

Connor nodded firmly. "I'll do everything in my power to help your daughter, Mrs. Phillips," he murmured, in a voice he hoped sounded soothing.

"Alright, ma'am, we need to go," the SWAT agent said, leading Caroline Phillips toward the elevator. Connor kept walking in the other direction and didn't look back. He had to find Captain Allen. That was first on his list of orders.

He located the squad leader in the main bedroom, yelling into a phone while another agent typed something into a computer. "Why are we wasting time sending a hostage negotiator? That bastard could jump from the rooftop any second!" A pause. "I don't give a shit! My men are ready to step in, just give the order!" Then Allen hung up the phone, sighing in frustration. "Fuck! I don't believe this."

Connor stepped closer to the other man. "Captain Allen?" He paused, only continuing when Allen turned to face him. "I'm Detective Connor Stern. The DPD sent me to be your hostage negotiator."

Allen didn't respond to him directly at first, and instead turning his attention towards the other agent in the room. "He's firing at everything that moves. Already shot down two of my men." He looked back over at Connor. "We could easily shoot him down, but they're on the edge of the balcony. If he falls… so does Emma."

Connor nodded. The gravity of the situation was not lost on him. "What are we looking at?"

"The perp's name is Daniel Lambert," Allen replied. "Worked for the family as Emma's caretaker… until tonight, anyway. The wife informed him he was gonna be let go, and he went postal. Took Mr. Phillips' gun, shot him. When Mrs. Phillips heard the shots, she called 911. Lambert got to Emma before the first responders got here, and he shot that cop, too. Took the girl up to the roof."

Immediately, Connor was reminded of the gun secured at his waist. "Anything else?"

Allen sighed in frustration. "Listen, saving that kid is all that matters. Lambert shot her father, an officer, and two of my men. You have permission to stop him using any means necessary. And you better deal with this fucking bastard now, or I'll take care of him myself. Understood?"

Connor nodded. "I understand perfectly, Captain."

A pair of headphones lay on Emma Phillips' bedroom floor. She hadn't heard the initial gunfire.

A tablet in the girl's room, with many videos of her and Lambert. Emma's young voice proclaiming happily, "This is Daniel, my best friend in the whole world!" He had been very close to the little girl.

There were five bullet holes in John Phillips' body. Talk about overkill. There was real anger in that particular murder. The cop had been shot twice, and judging by the blood on the wall across from where the officer's body lay, he had managed to hit Lambert.

There was a tablet on the living room floor, left discarded when John Phillips was shot. He had been looking at applications for a new caretaker. Lambert wasn't just being let go, he was being replaced.

A child's shoe was abandoned by the back door, with blood on it. It was impossible to know for sure at that moment whether the blood belonged to Daniel Lambert, Emma Phillips, or one of the other two victims. Even so, just to be safe, he made the call for a medic in case the hostage was wounded.

And then he stepped outside to confront Lambert.

No sooner than he'd crossed the threshold, Lambert fired his gun. It only grazed the side of Connor's arm, but still stung and stained the sleeve of his jacket with blood.

"Stay back!" Lambert ordered. "Don't come any closer, or I'll jump!"

"Help me!" Emma screamed. "Please, I'm begging you!"

Connor took a small step forward. "Daniel?" he called out. (First rule of negotiation: establish a first-name basis to make the perp less on edge.) "My name is Connor. I've come to get you out of this."

As he spoke, a helicopter passed overhead, sending water from the swimming pool billowing up in a wall of droplets, and chairs on the balcony scattering. "I know you're probably feeling scared and angry, but you need to trust me and let me help you. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk."

Lambert wasn't satisfied by that. "I don't wanna talk! It's too late for that now," he groaned.

Connor moved closer. "I want you to let Emma go. She's just a little girl; she didn't do anything to hurt you."

"No way!" Daniel snapped. "They'll shoot me the second I let go of her. But I'm not that stupid. No, I am not that stupid!"

Connor kept walking in Daniel's direction, speaking calmly. "No one thinks you're stupid, Daniel. We just don't want anyone else to get hurt." (First rule of conflict de-escalation: reassure the angered party wherever possible.) "They were going to let you go and hire someone else, and that upset you. That's what happened, right?"

"I thought I was part of the family," Daniel said forlornly. "I thought I mattered to them. But I thought wrong."

Connor sighed. "Look, I know you and Emma were very close. You think she betrayed you, but she's done nothing wrong!"

"SHE LIED TO ME!" Daniel yelled. "I thought she loved me. But I was wrong!" He paused, pressing the muzzle of the gun to the girl's head. "She's just like everybody else; turning her back on me as soon as she gets the chance!"

Emma sniffled. "Daniel, no…"

A faint groan to Connor's left caught his attention. Right at his foot was a wounded police officer. "Help…" he gasped out. "Please help me."

Connor bent on one knee to check the condition of the officer, and it wasn't a Connor needed to stop the bleeding, and fast. "He's losing blood," Connor said to Daniel. "If we don't get him to a hospital, he'll die."

"Everybody's gonna die eventually. What does it matter if that man dies now?"

Connor didn't answer that question. "I'm going to apply a tourniquet."

A bullet came stinging into the pavement half an inch away from Connor's hand before he could react. "Don't touch him!" Daniel ordered. "Touch him, and I kill you!"

"You can't shoot me, Daniel," Connor replied, removing his tie and securing it around the officer's wound. "I'm your last chance. If you kill me, there's no way you'll walk out of here."

As Connor stood, Daniel trained his gun on Connor. "Are you armed?"

He nodded. "Yes. I have a gun."

"Drop it!" Daniel commanded him. "No sudden moves; or I'll shoot!"

Connor did as he was told, slowly removing his gun from its holster and tossing it to the side. "There. No more gun."

He walked even closer, turning his attention to the young girl. She was bleeding from a small wound in her knee but was otherwise unhurt. Physically, anyway. "Are you okay, Emma?"

She whimpered. "Please… help me. I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die."

Connor held up one hand placatingly. "It's all right. Nobody is going to die. Just stay calm for me, okay?" Emma nodded, but she was shaking.

He looked back at Daniel. "You have to trust me, Daniel. Let the hostage go, and I promise you everything will be fine."

"I want everyone to leave!" Daniel exclaimed. "And I want a car. When I'm outside the city, I'll let her go."

Connor sighed and shook his head, making a split-second decision that he prayed was the right one. "That's impossible, Daniel. Let Emma go, and I promise you won't be hurt."

Daniel fell silent, considering Connor's words. Five seconds passed, feeling like eternity. "I don't wanna die."

"You're not going to die, we're just going to talk," he soothed. "Nothing will happen to you; you have my word."

There was a long silence. Connor could hear every beat of his heart as the blood pounded in his ears. Then—

"Okay. I trust you." He released his grip on Emma, letting her run back to the safety of the roof, where she collapsed by the pool.

There was a tense pause, in which Connor was mentally preparing to handcuff Daniel Lambert and read him his rights. No one moved. No one said a word.

And that was when the snipers fired. One, two, three.

The first bullet caught Daniel in the leg, the second his abdomen, and the third went through his chest.

No, no, no! Connor thought. He let the hostage go; this isn't standard procedure!

Daniel Lambert fell to his knees. "You…" he choked out. "You lied to me."

He collapsed g backward onto the stone, and he never spoke again.

I didn't lie, I swear, Connor wanted to say, but it would be of no use. Lambert was dead. All that mattered now was Emma Phillips, who was currently collapsed on the balcony, sobbing. Not wasting another second, Connor turned around and focused on her.

"Emma?" he said softly, bending down to her level. Before he could say anything else, she threw her arms around him, still weeping.

"Is he… is he dead?" she gasped, trying to look past his shoulder towards Daniel. Connor blocked her view—she didn't need to see another corpse.

"Don't worry about that," he murmured, taking her face in one hand. "The important thing is that you're safe. Now, besides the scrape on your knee, are you hurt at all?"

She shook her head, fighting back the tears. "You saved my life," she choked out, hugging him tightly. "Thank you."

Connor found he didn't have the heart to hand her over to the SWAT officers, who were fast approaching. Not when she was clutching him so tightly. Instead, he scooped her up, taking her into his arms. She didn't resist. "I'm going to take you back to your mother, okay?" he said gently. "She's waiting outside."

Emma buried her face in his shoulder and nodded.

* * *

She stayed that way the entire elevator ride, only releasing her grip on Connor when her mother came into view. Caroline Phillips couldn't stop sobbing and thanking him, and it took another ten minutes before he was able to make it back to his own car. (He'd had to shove away the medics, too, insisting he could treat his graze himself).

Once he'd shut the door behind him, he grabbed his personal cell phone—which he'd stored safely in the glove compartment—and pulled up his contacts to make a call. As he scrolled through the list of names, he paused when he got to a particular one, letting out a heavy sigh. The name  _Kara_  stared back at him, almost blinding in the light of the screen.

After everything he'd seen tonight, he wanted to call her. Wanted to talk to her about something,  _anything_ , to get his mind off the horrors on that roof. Emma Phillips was going to have to spend the rest of her life without her father. Connor had made a promise to Daniel that had then been broken against his will. Tonight, he needed her.

Much like that night she'd needed him almost ten years ago. He hadn't seen her since, and she hadn't left his mind since.

_Fuck_ , he missed her.

Then he reminded himself that he wasn't even sure if that was her number anymore (and she'd made him promise not to use his job to look for her), and called the number he'd intended to reach anyway.

It rang three times before the woman he'd called answered. "Connor? Holy  _shit_ , man, are you okay?"

He sighed. "Hey, North. I'm… I'm fine."

A snort. "You don't sound fine. You  _sound_  like you've been shot to hell."

Connor had to roll his eyes at her remark. "Emotionally, yes, North, I  _have_  been shot to hell. You would not believe the shit I saw up on that roof. Physically, though, I'm unharmed. So you can stop worrying."

"It was on TV, you know," North said. "The first hostage situation in Detroit this year, they said."

He cleared his throat. "Did you—"

She huffed. "Yes, Connor, I did further research on Lambert's background like you asked. Don't know why you wanted that info, it's really depressing. His parents abandoned him; later his fiancée left him for his childhood friend… the guy definitely had major abandonment issues. He  _lived_  with that family; they were all he had. No wonder this pushed him over the edge."

Connor sighed. "Yeah, I was afraid it'd be something like that." A sudden clatter in the background, followed by a laugh, made him tilt his head. "Where… are you, exactly?"

North chuckled. "I'm at Markus' dad's house. Markus and I are having dinner with him tonight. Our anniversary is coming up in a couple weeks, and Carl wanted to do something nice for us at his place. And, no surprise, despite being invited, Leo the problem child has failed to make an appearance." She paused. "I dropped by your apartment and picked up Sumo, by the way. Carl loves that dog; he wanted to see him. Is that… okay?"

Despite what he'd just faced, Connor had to smile at North's contentment. "Yeah, that's all right. Say hi to your boyfriend and Carl for me, okay?"

"Okay." She let out a long breath, and there was a brief silence before she spoke again. "Markus cooked enough to feed a small army, you know. If you wanted to come to eat with us, we'd be glad to have you."

Leave it to North to try and keep him from isolating himself. She really did know him well. And despite having a reputation of being sarcastic, hotheaded, and somewhat bitchy, Connor knew she really was a kind and loving woman at heart, who cared deeply about her friends and family.

He let out another heavy sigh. "No, that's… that's alright. I think I need to be alone. I'll get some takeout, watch a movie. You can swing by and drop Sumo back off at my place tomorrow morning."

"With some  _leftovers_ ," she insisted. "You can't live on Chinese takeout and pizza deliveries, Connor."

He finally let out a slight laugh. "I can't argue with that. You know I'll take what I can get when it comes to Markus' cooking. The man has a gift."

"Damn right he does," North agreed. "Meanwhile, I can't even make toast without burning it." They both chuckled at that, and another long silence followed as if North was lost in thought.

"Are you… sure you'll be okay, Connor? I know that the hostage situation must have been rough."

He nodded. "I swear to you, North Anne Kelly, with God as my witness, that I'm fine. Well, I  _will_  be fine. I just need to clear my head, that's all."  _And get some alcohol in me_ , he thought, but he didn't say aloud. North would just worry that he was lapsing back into his old drinking habits. "Tell the others I miss them, and pet Sumo for me. I'll see you at the station tomorrow, okay?" She didn't respond, so he pressed further. " _Okay_?"

"All right," she finally said in a small voice. "I'll see you at work tomorrow. And when I drop off Sumo."

He managed a smile. "Go knock 'em dead, partner. Have a good night."

She laughed. "Good night, Connor."

* * *

**November 5th, 2018**

Slowly, a woman blinked open her eyes. She was greeted with harsh fluorescent light and the familiar antiseptic scent that came as part of a hospital room. To her right, a heart monitor beeped softly. She could feel the familiar scratchy texture of a thin hospital gown against her skin, and she was covered with a blanket from her chest down. There was a brace on her left wrist. Instinctively, her heart quickened. Where the hell was she? And where was her daughter?

Then the door to her room clicked open, and an unfamiliar man entered. He was tall and somewhat stocky, with messy copper hair and square glasses. He was wearing scrubs and a white lab coat and carrying a clipboard with him. When he saw her watching him, he chuckled. "Well, I'll be damned. Sleeping Beauty has awakened." His smile wasn't unfriendly, and she managed a shaky smile in return. "I'm Dr. Rand. And you must be…" He paused, checking his clipboard. "Mrs. Kara Williams."

She nodded. Her memories of the night she was taken to the hospital were pretty fuzzy, but she remembered all the essential long-term information. It was more like only the one night was blurred, as the few times, she'd had a little too much to drink. "What happened? Where's Alice?"

He sighed. "Your daughter is fine, Mrs. Williams. She and your husband weren't hurt. Your husband said you fell down the stairs in your home. Pretty nasty fall, too—bruised ribs, a wrist fracture… you're lucky more of your bones weren't broken. You had some serious head trauma, though. You've been in a medically induced coma for the last two weeks. We brought you out of it because the brain swelling finally went down."

Kara nodded. "I don't really remember that night. But I can remember pretty much everything else. My name, my birthday, what school my daughter goes to."

Dr. Rand smiled. "Well, that's good. We had no way of knowing if you'd experience memory loss."

She held up her left hand, the one kept secure in a brace. "What about my—"

"Oh, don't worry about your hand," he replied. "Just try not to strain it, and it should heal on its own in about six weeks, give or take. You won't even need to get it checked again unless you start to experience more pain after you take the brace off. Give it 8 weeks to be safe."

Kara didn't argue. "All right. Anything else?"

He grinned. "The good news is, you get to go home today. You might be a little sore for a while from the bruised ribs, but you should be able to manage it with over the counter meds." He gestured toward the door. "Your husband is waiting outside."

Before Kara knew it, she was in the passenger seat of her husband's truck, watching the world pass by as he drove home.

Home. That was where she wanted to be to see her daughter. Kara wasn't sure how she'd make it through the next few hours before Alice got home from school, but at least she'd get to see Alice. She had to make sure Alice was okay, after two weeks of her mother being gone.

_I'll see her soon_ , she reminded herself.  _It's only a couple hours before school gets out_.

* * *

It was a peaceful day, the weather undoubtedly pleasant enough for a walk. The sun was shining, and autumn leaves fell from the trees surrounding the path he was on. Markus had to smile as he walked down the park walkway and saw a little girl screech with delight and run towards a young woman, who hugged her tightly. When he stepped out of the park onto the sidewalk ahead, he was nearly run down by a pair of enthusiastic morning joggers, who apologized profusely as they passed. Markus found that on a morning like this, he couldn't be annoyed with them.

He paused at the crosswalk, watching a construction supervisor yell at the workers, who were doing maintenance on a pipeline. To the right of him, a homeless woman was hunched on the pavement, asking for spare change. Markus walked over to her and handed over five dollars, smiling when she thanked him.

Once he crossed the street, Markus took notice of a man playing the guitar—which he could presume was the man's own instrument. The performer strummed with skill but was also putting heart into what he was playing. It was beautiful (as far as street performances were concerned), and the affirmation that his playing wasn't just a simple cash grab made the man seem more genuine, in a sense. Markus' eyes fell on the sign placed at the busker's feet that read:  _Music for the soul_.

Markus smiled and placed another dollar in the man's tip jar, and the performer nodded his thanks as he sang softly.

As he headed on toward his destination—a small paint shop—Markus couldn't help but overhear a preacher giving a rather powerful sermon to a few onlookers on the street corner, though he did his best to ignore the shouting. Things like that had never interested Markus, though he was fascinated by the reasoning behind being drawn to such things as religion. Everyone sought fulfillment somewhere, after all.

Markus was only just thinking about what he'd discuss with his father when he reached the entrance of the paint shop. It was a squat little building with huge windows and a cyan-painted frame, with large letters advertising sale offers and exclusive deals. A small bell rang as Markus opened the door and stepped inside.

Soft, calming music played from inside the store, which was a nice change of pace from the chaotic noise of the city. The floor and shelves were made from carved cedar, and advertisements hung on the walls.

The clerk was a young man in an apron with short red hair and blue eyes who recognized Markus on sight, as both he and his father were frequent customers. "Good morning, Mr. Manfred. Are you here to pick up your father's order?"

Markus chuckled. "For the last time, Jerry, it's just Markus. And yeah, I'm here to pick it up. Dad probably forgot about it, so…" he shrugged.

Jerry smiled and nodded in understanding. "I'll get it." He bent down, disappearing behind the counter for a moment, before popping back up with a brightly colored package in hand. "Here you go. Seeing as it's already been paid for in full, I don't need to charge you anything."

Markus took the package from the clerk and nodded. "See you later, Jerry. Have a nice day."

"Yeah, you too."

With that, Markus turned and exited the shop, tucking the box under his arm as he walked. Now all he needed to do was catch the bus back to his father's house.

As he headed back towards the station, he caught sight of a group of protesters, shouting about the rising conviction rates and overcrowding in prisons. Markus silently agreed with them—the justice system was originally designed to see that crimes were punished, and for innocence to be proven, but it'd never been perfect, and especially in recent years, it seemed that the courts were determined to put everyone in prison.

Forcing himself not to think about it, Markus walked past them and boarded the bus.


End file.
